


Allan Hawke Drabbles

by RittaPokie



Series: Tales From the Dragon Age [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie





	1. Don't Tell Me What I Can't Do

"You cannot snap that board in half with your fist." North says, shaking his head. "No way."

  
The younger recruit squats to inspect the plank of wood more closely. It is half as thick as his hand is wide and, well...he probably _can't_ break it, but he isn't going to let the other know that. "I think I can do it." he says, standing back straight. He stretches and flexes his fingers, rolling his wrists and shoulders to loosen up his muscles and joints.

  
"No." North insists, blond hair whipping across his face as he shakes his head again. "Allan, you will break your hand."

  
Both boys are a result of Templar training being a place for noblemen to drop their bastard children off. Neither finds the Chantry particularly interesting, but they know it's better than some lives. Allan puts both palms flat on the board and presses, testing its strength. It hardly bows at all, even when he leans his weight into the push. "I can do it." he insists.

  
"No-"

  
The blond reaches for him but he raises his fist and swings. The plank splinters and bends in the middle. "Told you." Allan says, hissing as he pulls his hand away. North was right about one thing. His hand is  _definitely_ broken.

  
"You are an _idiot_." North sighs, carefully unlatching the buckles on Allan's gauntlet and tugging it off as the other protests in pain. Blood is blooming in bruises under the skin and his knuckles are pushed into the muscles and tendons surrounding them. " _Why?_ "

  
"Because." he mumbles, a bit dizzy with pain but. He won. "You said I could not."


	2. Reunited

Allan never thought he would feel it again; the warmth of the healer's hands, rough from work, long fingers twined with his own. He thought he would never see the man's face again, not for real, only in dreams. Only when demons haunt his dreams, or when they crashed into reality, bringing their torment ever closer.

  
But Anders is _here_ and _real_.

  
And...facing execution. The Maker would not be so cruel as to give him love like this once, take it away, let him glimpse it again, only to tear it away forever, would He? Allan does not think he could stand it. He was surviving before. Barely, but surely. He had _purpose_. Go on, fight good fights, shove the world onto a better path if he had to damn well do it _all by himself_. Like Anders had done.

  
No, he does not agree with the way things ended. He was there to pull survivors from the wreckage. He was there to watch them die with no one to heal them. He would never support that, _but_ he has known desperation. He saw it in Anders. There was an end of the line, with nothing left to try. Nothing got attention, no one listened, the cause did not stick with those who heard it, it was not loud enough. So he made it louder.

  
One could argue the Exalted Marches were no better (firmly, passionately, and often, as Allan does). One could argue it was justified (given the events leading to it, it _was_ ; not to mention the spirit half behind it is _literally_ Justice). One could argue that the spirit was behind it (it was, but did not orchestrate it alone, was not a puppet-master; Anders is _no one's_ puppet).

  
Anders has never been the safe choice. Has never been what anyone wanted for him. Has never been who anyone thought he would choose. For him, though, Anders has been the _only one_ since the day he met him. Through every second they lived together, the healer was never safe, never satisfied, never drained of passion. Even when the fire burned low, the embers remained, and Allan became quickly and irrevocably _addicted_ to the flames.

  
Every moment without Anders carried an ache and sickness. Every moment was a punch in the gut to twist his stomach and break his ribs against the pain in his heart. Every moment was the worst one he had ever experienced, and hurt infinitely more than the one before. Though he thought the man dead, he never knew for sure. No one ever knew, only assumed, only suspected. It did nothing to soothe the worry, a shadow creeping through his veins and prickling his skin to the thought of Anders somewhere _alone_ and _hurt_.

  
But Anders is _here_ and _real_.

  
"I thought you were dead." He chokes out after sucking in a deep breath. The healer's fingers are white in his grasp and he knows he is squeezing too hard, but if he lets go he is afraid the man will crumble to dust and he knows that would die right along with him.

  
"I'm right here." Anders says. His eyes are warm for Allan even as they fill with fear for his own future and tired from running. Dark circles frame gold and white and bloodshot, gauntness in his face worse than ever before, ripped robes, scratches on his arms he has not been allowed to heal.

  
He reaches and tries to pull the healer closer but bars separate them. He has followed the Inquisition without hesitation, but he hates it more than he has ever hated anything right now. "Not so close." The guard. Allan had completely forgotten him. "He is dangerous."

  
The words stir a rage deep in the pit of Allan's stomach and he whips his head around to glare daggers at the guard until he retreats to the corner of the room. He knows that Anders is dangerous. The guard would do well to remember: _so is Allan Hawke_.

  
He faces Anders again, the boiling in his blood coming to a halt when he sees the small exhausted smile on the healer's face. He missed that. _Maker, he missed it so much_. "I love you." He blurts, words he has said before, but not for such a long time. He had almost forgotten what they felt like on his lips. " _I love you_." He repeats. "I thought I would never get to say it again."

  
"Please keep saying it." There is just enough room between the bars for Anders to rest his head against Allan's chest. " _Please_." His voice is strained. Allan lays his cheek on soft blond hair and sighs.

  
"I thought I might fall for you from the moment we met, and I was never so glad to have suspected something." He continues. "Now, after all this time, I feel as though I have loved you since the day I was born. I did not know what it felt like to breathe until you said you loved me for the first time. Your passion has inspired me every moment I have known you, even when I thought I had lost you, I found the strength to carry on just with the memories. You are _everything_ and loving you has been the greatest blessing of my life."


	3. Lunch

"Serah Hawke, wait!" A small elven girl runs after him when he has stopped. She holds out a doll made of sack cloth and twine. "You got herbs for the healer so he could make little brother better." She says shyly. "I want you to have this...I made her."

He smiles instantly, taking the doll and bowing his head. "Thank you, miss. I will treasure her forever." She beams at him and skips off happily.

 

" _Jealous?_ " he grins at Anders, showing off the trinket. "You know, if you eased off the no-donations, doing-this-all-on-my-own thing _just a bit_ , you would probably get more presents." The clinic is almost completely empty except for a few quick aches and pains or chills, so he knows he can speak freely.

Anders replies with a huff between amusement and exasperation. Sometimes those feelings are one in the same around Hawke. "I'm not _jealous_. She knew you were coming here, perhaps she thought you'd _share_."

"She doesn't know me at all, then." Hawke scoffs. "I detest sharing." He scrunches his face in mock disgust.

"You're a terrible liar." Anders says. "And you could at least help me, since you're here." He tosses clean sheets at Hawke before stripping the cost of old ones. 

"No, no. You don't want my help, remember?" Hawke clucks his tongue. "You're far too busy to be helping little ol' me, Hawke. I get along just fine here all on my own, thank you very much." He says, imitating Anders' slightly higher voice and exaggerating the difference in pitch.

" _Hawke_." Anders sighs, throwing the soiled sheets into a bun at the back wall. "Please, I'm asking you, as my friend, _help me_."

"Have lunch with me and I'll be your humble servant for the rest of the day." Hawke says. 

This gives Anders pause. He turns to look at Hawke, tidying momentarily forgotten. "You're not serious." He says warily.

"Oh, I am." Hawke insists.

"I-" he glances around. "I can't just _leave_."

"No one is here." Hawke shrugs. "And you won't be much of a healer if you faint from not eating." He nudges Anders out of the way and secures the clean sheets onto the cots.

"Alright." Anders says. "Only if you don't keep me out too long."

"I promise." Hawke grins. "An hour at most."


	4. Problems

_It won't be a problem_

Hawke can feel anxiety crawling under his skin, making him itch. He feels like he must have ground his teeth to the gums, as long as his jaw has been tense and twitching. It was easy when it was just a plan. Fifty gold, Deep Roads, treasure, life gets better. It felt like a fantasy. _Unrealistic_. He never thought he would actually get fifty gold together.

But he did, and now, _here he is_ , outside an entrance to the Deep Roads, and he is far from okay. Not that his companions seem very excited about it either. Anders complains that he hates the Deep Roads. Hawke would've respected that and left him in Darktown, but...the idea of going into this with no Warden is far worse than this. Having Anders makes this slightly easier. _Slightly_.

They are supposed to be down there for _several weeks_. Hawke honestly doesn't know how he is going to keep it together.

"Good thing we're not scouts then." He hears himself say.

_What? Why did I say that? What did he say?_

His ears are already ringing and his posture is stiff as he walks, leading his party into a side passage. Apparently, he agreed to find an alternate route because the main tunnel collapsed. Because that's what he does. He goes above and beyond what is expected.

"Hawke." There is caution in Aveline's tone. "Are you alright?"

He nods and his voice is hoarse. "Fine...just nerves." She gives him a look of sympathy. She knows. Of course she knows.

_I shouldn't have brought her. Or Anders. How could I be so selfish?_

He heard Anders sigh and a soft scuffling noise around a corner. He knew it would happen eventually, but his vision still narrows to the point where he has to stop walking or he will lose balance.

"Easy." Anders says, suddenly at his side. "We'll be alright. I am a good healer, you know that."

Hawke nods, steadying himself. He draws his greataxe and leads them around the bend in the cavern.

_I won't let this be a problem._

 

Later, they come upon a boy, Sandal, standing amidst scattered darkspawn bodies. 

"Hello." The boy greets cheerfully.

"How did you manage to kill all of them on your own?" Hawke asks.

He holds out a rune in his hand. "Boom."

"And...that..." Hawke falters, meeting the gaze of a paralyzed ogre.

He doesn't even hear what the boy says before he wanders off in the direction of the cave entrance. His eyes are fixed on the ogre's empty stare.

_Oh, maker..._

"Hawke?" Anders calls, and he sounds far away, so far that Hawke can barely hear him over his own unsteady breathing and pounding heart. "Hawke, stay with us."

He blinks, shaking his head and trying to even out his breathing. He gives the frozen ogre one last glance before pushing forward...and right into a very not frozen ogre.

It is surprisingly easy to kill, just like the one before. No on dies. The battle goes smoothly, perfect.

_It would've last time too, had I paid more attention._

The group stops in the next clear space to rest. Hawke paces back and forth on guard at the way they haven't gone yet, nearly bumping the walls when he turns.

"You're making me tired just watching you." Varric says. "Take a break."

"Not until I know it's safe." He says in a low voice.

_It's my fault that Carver is dead. I won't let any of them die now._

"No where in the Deep Roads is safe. It's the Deep Roads." Anders says. "But come on, even I'm resting."


End file.
